


we’ll burn away (my tears)

by eraseable



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers (TV), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Attempted Murder, BASED OFF THE BALLAD OF SARA BERRY, Character Analysis, Character Study, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder, No Smut, Other, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Song: The Ballad Of Sara Berry, The Ballad of Heather Chandler, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:07:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29649693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eraseable/pseuds/eraseable
Summary: She was Heather. She was Heather, god fucking damn. People talked about her, and that was all they would do. They hated her. They loved her. They feared her. She was Heather, she was Heather, she was Heather. Not Heather Chandler. Who the fuck needs you to mention their last name in order for you to know them because there are two other Heathers at Westerburg?it's the first and last time heather mcnamara runs for prom queen and heather chandler is absolutely outraged.(collab by three authors , eraseable , littlewhispers & n1ra)
Relationships: Heather Chandler & Heather Duke & Heather McNamara, Heather Chandler & Jason "J. D." Dean, Heather Chandler & Veronica Sawyer, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 7





	we’ll burn away (my tears)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Ballad of Heather Chandler](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/765318) by cipherdoodles. 



> trigger warning! please don't read if you are triggered by the following:  
> s*icidal thoughts, implied s*lf h*rm, implied substance ab*se, gaslighting, implied ab*se, m*rder, detailed g*re & violence in general.

Heather hated this fucking bathroom.

It smelled like memories of raging parties— of drunken hookups, of too many lines of coke, of vomit and overdose, of a time when Heather was still Heather, not Heather Chandler. It smelled like the salt on her lips, like the metallic red drying beneath her nails and hot. So _fucking_ hot. It was stuffy and gross, leaving her feeling suffocative and dizzy. The fact that she couldn’t stop glaring daggers into the absolute _loser_ of a girl glaring back probably wasn’t helping the ache pounding at her temples.

Groaning in defeat, she slid down against the wall, the marble a cooling relief against her back. Heather— No, Heather Chandler, now— picked at her bra straps, frowning at the discoloured white from months of wear. She pulled the band of her underwear higher as she shifted into a more comfortable position, staring softer at her own reflection.

They were cotton, mind you, not like she had anyone to wear thongs or lacy panties for anymore. And it wasn’t like she was bitter to the point where she went _mad_ , no. Of course not. She was Heather.

She was Heather, right?

She was Heather. Oh, what a joke— of course she was Heather. She was gorgeous, she was flawless, she was pretty and stunning and charming and cute and sexy and elegant and lovely, she was every other stupid little thing found on fucking thesaurus.com for words similar to beautiful. She was Heather. _She was Heather_ , god fucking damn. People talked about her, and that was all they would do. They hated her. They loved her. They _feared_ her. She was Heather, she was Heather, she was Heather. Not Heather Chandler. Who the fuck needs you to mention their last name in order for you to know them because there are two other Heathers at Westerburg?

Not Heather. Definitely not Heather.

“For fuck’s sake!” She shouted at herself, squeezing her eyes shut before opening them again, as if she could take off a nonexistent mask and poof, bang, ohmygod, _wow_ , she was Heather again. She sunk even lower, now realising the odd iron tang on her tongue was from the crusted blood beneath her thumbnail, hooked under her teeth. Frowning, she pulled her fingers away from her lips and sharply shook her head, standing up and gently slapping the sides of her face as she tried to take in the situation at hand for the second time. Maybe not the second time. She’d been here for hours— at least, it had felt like it’d been hours since she entered. Her hair was cooled and dry, not the wet mess it had been when she showered ages ago. How long had she been sitting here, undressed, thinking this decision over and over—

 _Stop_.

“Stop,” she breathed, shutting her eyelids again. Her lashes, a dirty gold, kissed her cheekbones when she blinked. Seconds (maybe minutes, actually, she still wasn’t too sure and her sense of time had most likely gone to shit at this point—) passed and she let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She ran her blood-crusted fingers in her locks, gripping and yanking down. Harder than she expected, as she winced at the pain in her scalp.

Was she _really_ going to be this level of desperate? The level that ascends all the others, the level which marks her as a top-tier _desperado_ or whatever the fuck—she didn’t know, she wasn’t sure— the one that lands her in the ninth ring of hell? The one that has her knowing that she had exhausted all of her options? Gritting her teeth, she sighed again, throwing her head back as she pinched the bridge of her nose and racked her brain. She counted, touching metal-laced fingertips and muttering their names— at least, tried to. It was still _hot_ and she hadn’t forgotten— she definitely would never forget it, and this bathroom. She wishes she chose another place to sit naked instead of this bathroom. Fuck this bathroom. Fuck its air, too, thick and heavy and laden with the scent of iron. Too much iron. She wishes the ventilation still worked. Fuck this AC.

Off topic. She was going off topic again, derailing from the original reason why she even wanted to stand in this stupid, stuffy room in the first place. No, actually, she wasn’t derailing— she was _avoiding_ it. She let out a low groan of frustration, thinking of all this time she wasted. All this time she’s spent leaving reminders on her wrists of what little was left of her self-worth, all this time she’s spent staring at her reflection covered beneath the mirror’s uncleaned dust and dirt, all this time she’s spent being here, sitting, undressed and complaining to herself about the stupid summer air. If she had just gotten straight to the point, she wouldn’t’ve spent all her time internally complaining about broken air conditioning. But, hey, you couldn’t blame her, right?

No one wants to know that their last option is something as ugly as murder.

☆

The ride passes in a silence too quiet, with only the low growl of the scrappy vehicle— an extreme degrade from her preferred transport, and the squirm of the tires as they skidded over pebbles scattered on the road filling the empty void of soundless words between her and the driver.

She despised silence, loathed the way her head twisted pretty little words and gushes of envy and lust— or the lack thereof, into cruel whispers spoken in her own voice, or worse, the icy voice of the man she dared not call a caretaker, much less, a father. She hated that they knew exactly what to say to crumble her charismatic, sleek, _stunning_ facade of Heather fucking Chandler— no, it was just Heather now, into ash, hated how each insult they spat out of bitter lips was a horrid truth she feared confrontation of.

Tonight was no exception to this torment. Hell, tonight it was _worse._

(screaming, crying, the sound of her friends squirming beneath her heel as they stared, terrified into her merciless, crazed eyes, their lips frothing red with blood. “get the fuck away from me!—”)

Around her, the world withered away into a blur of shrouded alleyways reeking of copper (a scent she was now all too familiar with) and rot. The streets were little better— flooded beneath a sea of litter, piss and spit. Drunken, pot-bellied adults and scrawny teenagers swam past glistening signs of neon and mildew tinted windows as the world were their catwalk, humming broken tunes as they staggered past her gaze, feeling uncaring of anything but the moment they thrived in. One brought a green-glass bottle to their lips, the within liquor barely grazing their tongue as they wolfed it down in a single gulp, and she watched through the bars of the vehicle like a caged bird as they allowed the flask to slip from their fingers and shatter in a thunderous scream.

Yet another street skimmed through her sight, and hazy crimson lights danced across her eyes of emerald, peeking through the border of glass and steel as they coated her in yet another layer of red in some sort of sick mockery, as if the blood tainting her skin like a mess of paint on a pristine canvas hadn't been enough. Despite years of cheap, scandalous hookups and awed gapes, it was only in this moment, as her blood bathed body was illuminated by a blaze of red, did she feel the most exposed.

(— a river of red pouring from their heads, bits of gore simmering within as specks of flesh clung on to the creases on her dress—)

She tore her gaze from the window, twisting her head to the person beside her, hoping, no, begging he would say something to drag her out of the abyss within her own mind.

He didn’t, his attention set heavy on the highway, and she swallowed her disappointment.

It was quite pathetic, the way her hands trembled and shivered and felt oh so cold despite it being the middle of a warm summer, the way her perfectly manicured nails dug into her arms until her knuckles budged out of her skin in mountains of white, the way tears lit ablaze trudged down her reddened cheeks like a waterfall and wouldn't fucking _stop_. And since when did she have to degrade to begging to get what she wanted? She was Heather for fucks sake. The Heather that could ruin a life with two words, a pen and a piece of paper, the Heather that could break a nose with a killer kick and pointed heel, the Heather that just murdered seven of her classmates and— and...

(—the feeling of a body gone limp in her arms, the blare of sirens, lifeless eyes staring endlessly into the black of the polluted sky above.)

Fuck.

Realisation breathed down the nape of her neck, treading her body in a gnawing quiver as if she’d been doused in water that felt too much like the surface of steel.

_Fuck._

Panic clumped onto her, a plethora of guilt, shock and ‘oh shit’ weighing heavy on her shoulders. Waves of nausea hit her mind like a goddamn tsunami and the beginnings of vomit peeked at the back of her throat. Swallowing quickly, she grasped greedily at the muffled, stuffy air, inhaling through sharp gasps and clenched teeth, her chest heaving with each breath as she was suddenly all to aware the blood on her fingers that scorched her skin in unseen flames of Hell.

_fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—_

She clawed at her eyes, ichor mixing with the invisible ink of tears as a chorus of screams escaped her lips as meek whimpers.

_FUCK._

A thousand questions whirled in her mind, running past her like the roaring winds of a hurricane. She wasn’t even quite aware as they lept of her tongue in a slur of incomprehensible half-words that only fueled her own dream-drunken daze and delusion. The sights around the now-halted car melted into grotesque, monstrous shapes of darkened colors, a wraith of shadows and blood taking up her gaze as the driver’s attempts at grabbing her clouded attention drowned beneath a surface of ringing and shrieking in her jeweled ears.

Each second ticking by was a minute, each minute— an hour, and it was only after her reality gained the slightest inch of normality, did she manage to piece together a phrase that was a pang to her heavy beating heart.

“I killed them.” She whispered, a hush beneath her breath that the other figure could barely hear, though the tight grimace that had stolen the corners of his lips did not escape her notice. “ _I killed them._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> first half (before the star) by n1ra, second half by littlewhispers. description & summary by eraseable  
> thank you for reading! ... message us https://discord.gg/fFQ9DwJBxn


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